


Dissonance

by itsparkerluck



Series: itsparkerluck’s irondad ficlets [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hair Brushing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Sensory Overload, Sort Of, Tony Stark Has A Heart, protect my poor boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 01:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsparkerluck/pseuds/itsparkerluck
Summary: "You sure you're okay?" Tony seems even more anxious than before. Does he really look that bad?"I’m okay," Peter grits out, his voice wavering more than it should’ve.But he's not. He's really, really not.





	Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the person who complained to me on insta (@itsparkerluck) that there weren’t enough sensory overload fics so here ya go buddy
> 
> set right after the airport scene in ca:cw, where peter and tony return to new york

 

 

 

 

 

Peter, for the nth time, presses his forehead against the window marvelingly.

 

Swinging from buildings and fighting crime is cool and all, but nothing really is the same as watching the massive, fluffy clouds pass by painstakingly slowly beneath him. Sure he's seen pictures, but it just isn't the  _ same.  _ The brilliant white is almost painful to look at, but they're so  _ pretty. _ He could sit there all day. (And evidently, he  _ has _ all day.)

 

Tony lets out an amused snort from beside him, the noise failing to escape from Peter's attention. It makes his ears burn with embarrassment, and he pulls away from the window, crossing his legs and shoving his fingers between his thighs.

 

"I'm not judging or anything," Tony says mildly, eyebrows raised. He takes off the rose-colored sunglasses that he had been wearing, hooking it on the collar of his shirt. "This is your, what, first time? Second time on a plane?"

 

"My ears feel weird." They really do.

 

"Yeah, that happens." He hears a loud rattling sound, and smells the overpowering scent of peppermint. Tony holds out a tic-tac. "Want one? They help with the pressure."

 

"I'm good," Peter politely declines. The smell is beginning to make him feel nauseous.

 

Tony gives him a sidelong glance, before dropping the mint back into its small container and stowing it into his pocket. "There's no need to be so stiff around me. I don't bite. Usually."

 

"I know." It doesn't really make the situation any less awkward for Peter.

 

He looks at the teenager. Heaves a sigh. "We should talk."

 

Peter squints up at him dubiously. "You sound like my Aunt May when she caught me sneaking out at night."

 

Tony waves a dismissive hand. "You're not in trouble or anything, but we need to take some precautions before I know I can fully entrust the suit to you."

 

"You designed a multi-million dollar suit without even knowing whether you're gonna give it to me or not?" Peter asks incredulously.

 

The billionaire chuckles. "Sass. I like it. I think you'd make a good protégé."

 

Peter's cheeks heat visibly.

 

The corners of Tony's lips lift amusedly. "But yeah, I do have a few strict rules that I want you to follow. Number one, finish high school and go to college."

 

"That's what I was planning on," Peter says.

 

"Number two, personal life comes before being a superhero. And number three, there's a tracker and monitor in your suit that lets me keep an eye on you at all times. Don't remove or disable it. There's more, obviously, but I figure it's all common sense from here."

 

"Sounds easy enough."

 

"I'm being serious, Peter," Tony scolds lightly.

 

"I am too," he protests. "So do I getta, y'know, keep the suit?"

 

Tony hums thoughtfully. "I don't know. Maybe. I'll get back to you on that."

 

Peter groans. Tony smiles.

 

They sit in silence after that, Peter leaning against the window, gazing out at the clouds again. His eyes slip closed. With the hours left of the plane ride, he might as well pass the time with a nap.

 

His brow furrows as he tries to sleep, but he can't. A faint buzzing sound begins to bounce around him, the roar of the engine growing louder. A spike of sudden fear shoots through him—Peter may be superhuman, but if there were any malfunctions with the plane and it falls, there'd be nothing to stop them from dying on impact, especially not at this height. He straightens up abruptly in his seat, glancing around.

 

"Peter?" Tony's concerned voice off to his right draws his attention.

 

"I, uh," Peter swallows thickly. His head swims, and he blinks rapidly. "Do you know where the noise is coming from?"

 

"Noise?" The billionaire glances around the plane. "I don't hear any noise."

 

Peter leans back in his seat. "It might've just been my imagination."

 

Except, it's very clearly not his imagination. The sounds are all around him, all jumbled thoughts and deafening noises, and his head begins to pound with a throbbing migraine. He bites his lip, willing the blaring in his head to go away, but it doesn't.

 

"You sure you're okay?" Tony seems even more anxious than before. Does he really look that bad?

 

"I'm okay," Peter grits out, his voice wavering more than it should've.

 

"You're really pale," Tony points out worriedly. He reaches out to put a hand on Peter's shoulder comfortingly, but the teenager flinches violently before they make contact, shrinking back into his seat. Tony jerks his hand away quickly. "Sorry! Sorry. But, God, you're definitely not okay."

 

He's not. He's really, really not.

 

The roar grows impossibly louder, crawling into his ears like sandpaper. The bulbs lighting up the plane's interior shine obnoxiously, blindingly in his peripheral. Peter squeezes his eyes shut and clamps his hands over his ears in a feeble attempt to block out all the input, curling in on himself.

 

He knows what this is. Everything is all too familiar. But it can't,  _ shouldn't _ be happening, not now, not right in front of Tony Stark. The flight to Germany with Happy went off without a hitch. Things shouldn't be going wrong now, but they are.

 

Tony sits uncertainly at his side, hovering closely but not touching, keeping his respective distance. He lowers his voice until it's almost inaudible, careful not to hurt the boy further. "Peter. Peter, you with me?"

 

Peter attempts to form a response, but it escapes his throat as a choked-off, incoherent noise. His hands press tighter against his ears, but it does little to ease the sensations. The miniscule yet nauseating vibrations of the airplane is felt deep in his chest, and it's only getting worse.

 

"Mr. Stark," Peter chokes out. "Please—"

 

"Please what?" Tony asks, calmly, but the carefully covered panic is still there. His voice goes soft. "Peter, what's going on? Is there anything I can do?"

 

He wheezes, trying to form a sentence with the little air he has. "Just—I just—"

 

It's starting to hurt, it's starting to really  _ really _ hurt. The sounds reverberating around him get louder, louder, the lights get brighter and brighter and brighter—there are white-hot needles jabbing into his eardrums and prickling down his spine, sandpaper rubbing against his throat. The remaining air is crawling out of his lungs, leaving Peter to gasp weakly.

 

He wants to scream.

 

Peter wants to scream and scream, but Tony's presence is what makes him hold it back. He opts for biting down on his tongue instead, hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood.

 

He feels an undeniable urge to bury himself into the nearest warm body, yearning desperately for the contact that he had just shied away from. Yet he physically holds himself in place, pressing himself back into the seat.

 

Tony puts a hand on his back.

 

He doesn't do anything, just rests his hand there—and it's enough to throw Peter suddenly back into his own senses, zeroing his attention in on the innocent touch. The hand moves to his shoulder, and it's pulling him in, drawing him close to his mentor's side. A welcoming blanket in a sea of cacophony.

 

He has enough of his consciousness left to flush with humiliation. "Mr. Stark, I—"

 

"Just shut up," Tony says, not angrily. Peter shuts up, pushing his head into Tony's shoulder. Shoulders hunched, his breath comes out in shaky gasps as he still struggles to draw in air.

 

"Breathe, kid," the older coaxes gently.

 

Peter breathes.

 

All it takes is for Tony to  _ tell  _ him, and the air is rushing back to his lungs. He feels lightheaded.

 

There's a long pause, where Peter's breathing is steadily growing slower and calmer. And then there's the hand nestled in his hair, and it starts moving, raking gently through his sweat-slicked curls, and oh,  _ oh _ —it's the best goddamn feeling in the entire world.

 

Peter could sit here forever.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut as the deafening roar begins to die down to a buzz, migraine reduced to a distant, throbbing sensation in the back of his skull. His surroundings quieten, and the lights don't seem to be as blinding as they were a moment ago.

 

He's able to open his eyes at this point. His head is still tucked under Tony's chin, and all he can see is the billionaire's solid black shirt, heavily wrinkled where his other hand unconsciously grips the sleeve. He lets go, hand falling limply to his side.

 

The thing is, Peter's never had anyone with him during one of these episodes. Not Ned, not even Aunt May. He's pretty sure that neither of them even know about these side effects. Having someone by his side, helping him through the hellish sensations, is. Nice. For lack of better words.

 

The brunet's eyes slip closed again, but for an entirely different reason. He lets out a small, contented hum as Tony's hand continues to card his fingers through his locks, in the same downward strokes, over and over again.

 

"You good?" Tony eventually asks from above him after a long lull, voice unexpressive. The hand in his hair halts abruptly, and eventually leaves it.

 

Peter tries not to sound too disappointed. "I'm—I'm good.

 

Tony pulls away, leaving Peter feeling cold.

 

He sits back in his seat, running a hand absentmindedly through his own hair, subconsciously mimicking the previous sensations. He catches Tony watching him in his peripheral, and the billionaire looks away.

 

The silence is almost just as deafening as the noise.

 

Peter slumps in his seat, letting his head fall back to thud against the headrest. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him. He's tired. He aches. His head still hurts. He can still faintly feel Tony's ghost-fingers trailing through his hair.

 

Tony sighs and sits back, crossing his arms and staring ahead, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the teenager.

 

"So, this never happened."

 

Peter widens his eyes. He isn't sure whether to be amused or disappointed. Nonetheless, he fights back the urge to smile, covering his mouth with his sleeve. "Yes, sir."

 

Tony gives the teen an unreadable look. He pulls the container of tic-tacs from his pocket, rattling it before popping it open. A mint falls onto his palm, and he promptly plops it into his mouth, crunching down audibly.

 

"We still need to talk about this, you know."

 

Peter raises his head. "I thought you said it never happened?"

 

Tony coughs. "I'm being serious, Peter."

 

_ I know. _ "It was nothing," Peter says dully.

 

"That sure as hell wasn't 'nothing'. What was that?"

 

"Sensory overload," Peter mumbles. "That's what it seems like, anyway."

 

Tony exhales heavily, leaning back in the seat. "How long has this been going on for?"

 

"Ever since the bite. The only ones this intense happened right after. This is the first bad one in a while."

 

The billionaire raises a concerned eyebrow. "So you go through these often?"

 

"No. I mean," Peter tilts his head. "Maybe."

 

"Peter, I'm being _ serious. _ "

 

Peter runs a hand through his mussed-up hair. "I know."

 

"You gotta tell people about these kinda things," Tony reprimands. "The problem isn't going to go away if you just ignore it."

 

"I know," Peter repeats with a sigh.

 

"Y'know, I said before that there were only three rules. I lied. Rule number four,  _ talk _ to people when you go through this kind of shit." He holds up four fingers to emphasize.

 

Peter raises an incredulous eyebrow. "Really?"

 

The billionaire gives him a long look, making the younger squirm. "Maintaining a secret identity is a huge responsibility. It changes you. Forces you to build those walls up." He glances away. "Don't go where I went wrong."

 

Peter blinks, and looks down at his hands, folded in his own lap. "I know," he says again, voice small.

 

When Tony doesn't respond, Peter peeks up through his fringe without lifting his head, watching the billionaire's impassive face curiously. Tony catches his eye, and he averts his eyes back to his lap quickly. The older lets out a huff.

 

His mentor goes quiet, hesitates, before awkwardly letting his hand fall atop Peter's head, ruffling his hair fondly. Peter perks up, surprised. 

 

"You show a lot of promise, and I'm not just saying that. Someday you're gonna be better than me, so don't let me down."

 

Peter beams.

 

"I know."  
  


 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t want to overuse the whole hair play thing but i just love it so much and couldn’t resist i’m sorry
> 
> i hope the dialogue doesn’t sound too forced or anything??? tony and peter aren’t very familiar with each other at this point so,,
> 
> comment what you think tho, i live for comments!!!! and don’t forget to check out other works in this series x
> 
> hmu on insta at @itsparkerluck


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